


have faith

by zxrysky



Category: Haikyuu!!
Genre: Alternate Universe - Gods & Goddesses, Fluff, M/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-10-08
Updated: 2016-10-07
Packaged: 2018-08-20 03:59:34
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,755
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8235316
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/zxrysky/pseuds/zxrysky
Summary: The boy is small, skinny legs and lanky arms, plasters pasted all over his body and bruises decorating him like an art piece. His eyes remind Oikawa of the star constellations he’s seen while trespassing the sky, bordering into Daichi’s territory, the Aurora Borealis caught in the shiny eyes he uses to see the world around him. -+-A god meets a boy.





	

There’s this one human that intrigues Oikawa. The boy is small, skinny legs and lanky arms, plasters pasted all over his body and bruises decorating him like an art piece. His eyes remind Oikawa of the star constellations he’s seen while trespassing the sky, bordering into Daichi’s territory, the Aurora Borealis caught in the shiny eyes he uses to see the world around him. At his young age, the boy’s skin is already the color of chocolate - the melted kind, the kind used to make hot chocolate, that runs over his tongue and leaves a sweet aftertaste, the smooth liquid tasting like heaven.

 

It’s painfully funny how high some humans’ pain thresholds are, and how low some are. This boy belongs to the former, and Oikawa can’t seem to wrap his head around why this boy desires to hurt himself. It can be likened to self-abuse, the trembling hands wrapped around colored limbs with veins startlingly clear; the boy’s arms are littered with half healed scars, plasters strewn across knees and his nose bridge, limbs heavily mottled with blueblacks. But this boy, his eyes are bright, his smile rivals the sun (something Daichi will fight him over, no doubt) and he keeps coming back for more.

 

He climbs trees like he’s scaling buildings, fingers fitting into the grooves like he’s rappelling up a stone tower to save the royalty trapped within. He falls off more times than he reaches the top, with palms outstretched and pressed on the grass, dirt stuck to his elbows, knees scraped and there’s always the occasional blood. The boy doesn’t care, has no sense of self preservation whatsoever, doesn’t realise that he’s lucky he has no broken ankles, no shattered elbows, no spinal injury, and he tucks his bug net into his pocket, shaking out his hands to try again.

 

Oikawa has seen this boy jump across barriers, one hand gripping the metal surface with a sweaty palm and trembling arm as he swings his body across. He’s seen the boy tumble off, the awkward bent of his elbow resulting in his fall, heard the winces as soft flesh hits hard metal, but the boy continues, falling into the dirt over and over again until he perfects it, until he can swing himself over a barrier without pause, until he can climb to the top of the highest tree in his backyard under a minute, until he can do a somersault and a cartwheel and walk on his hands.

 

Humans are strange; the whole lot of them are delusional, with how attached they get to each other when they only exist for terribly fleeting moments in time, with how they ache for the bitter taste of pain, the burn in their muscles and the throbbing in their bones. Their curiosity overrides their self-preservation - safety is never the top most priority in their minds, despite their bodies being weak and fragile and easily broken.

 

This boy is the strangest of all, Oikawa thinks, as he hides behind a tree and watches the boy talk to his mother. The boy lights up when the woman enters his line of sight, and starts babbling about his accomplishments today. They’re not very big feats, uncomparable to the things Oikawa has been tasked to do, uncomparable even to the things Sugawara has been tasked to do. They’re mindless things that Oikawa can confidently do without a jerk in his movements, fluid as running liquor, but the boy seems to take pride in such small things.

 

The next day, with plasters and ointments and skin dotted with bruises, enough to draw constellations by connecting them, the boy is back to do more. He’s dressed in loose pants and looser shirts, hands curled into fists as he stares determinedly at the rope.

 

Today, he’s planning to climb up the rope and touch the tallest branch on the tree.

 

Oikawa can tell he’s going to get rope burn, the hiss of thick thread rubbing against fleshy palms, leaving behind the sting of failure and red hot marks as a reminder. His legs are going to be in the same state, sweaty and painful and tender. The boy isn’t going to make it, not on his first try, not on his second, potentially not even the tenth time.

 

He watches as the boy attempts it nonetheless, hears the boy’s telltale wince as he slides and drops off, hitting the ground and blowing on his palms to cool them. Oikawa watches from his position in the tree, sees the boy try it once more and fall.

 

Humans are strangely delighted at injuring themselves, leaving marks on themselves, blemishing their previously unmarked skin. They want tattoos, they want piercings, they want to do dangerous things with no certainty of success or survival. The boy takes joy in showing off his red palms to his mother, grinning even as he has to submerge his hands in cool water to get rid of the pain, and he’s deliriously happy even though he has achieved absolutely nothing. The rope remains unconquered, the boy is injured, and yet he smiles like he’s conquered Japan and crowned as emperor.

 

Perhaps this is the same instance in the story where Icarus flew too close to the sun. The wax wings melted, dripping like forsaken dreams into the ocean far below, and Icarus, stupid, ignorant Icarus, didn’t care.

 

He had apologised to his father, but when his father asked, confessed that he wouldn’t have had it any other way. If he had wax wings, if he had real wings made out of down feathers and connected to his nerves, his veins, throbbing at his back, he would have still flown to the sun, for he yearned to see that brightness for himself.

 

This boy is the same, Oikawa thinks. He wants to fly too close to the sun. Does he possess wax wings, or those that are real?

 

Oikawa touches his own wings in thought. They curl out from his back, at his shoulder blades, and he lets them shimmer out of existence. If he flies too close to the sun, he’s pretty sure Kuroo isn’t the kind who will burn his wings out of spite over some previous altercation. Oikawa’s different. He has a temper. If someone were to anger him and tried to ask for help, Oikawa isn’t going to make any promises. His word, when given, is more solid than stone. He isn’t giving it away freely.

 

 _It will be annoying_ , Oikawa realises in shock. _It will be annoying if this boy’s wings burn out._

 

Maybe it’s time to talk to Bokuto.

 

-+-

 

Bokuto’s in a state again, even with his age and supposed wisdom. He’s dressed up to resemble his father, who he sees as wizened with age and every strand of hair whiter than clouds. Bokuto has his hair down, placed paper over his black streaks to cover them, hair extensions in (the wrong) place and a flowy, fake beard.

 

Honestly, Bokuto’s father looks nothing like that, despite being older than Bokuto and Oikawa combined. But Bokuto likes to pretend that his father is the oldest being the world and looks like the old wizards from movies on Earth. It gives him the illusion that he’ll soon take over as the god of wisdom.

 

“Oikawa!” He yells, wide grin in place as he rushes over, almost tripping over his beard. “Tell me, how do I look?”

 

“Like an idiot,” Oikawa deadpans, and Bokuto beams.

 

“Good! I was trying for that. It’s exactly what my father looks like!” Bokuto waves his arms around, causing the long sleeves to flap in the wind and hit his face. “I can’t wait to show Kuroo!” He says, making Oikawa puff his cheeks in an attempt to stop himself from laughing.

 

Try as he might, Oikawa can’t help but laugh. Bokuto’s craziness is refreshing, and perhaps Oikawa has been on Earth too long, and has forgotten how to find humor in random things. Humans are impossible to understand, and with the amount of time he’s spent trying to figure them out, Oikawa hasn’t laughed in a long while.

 

Bokuto looks at him, smiling knowingly, and Oikawa immediately stops laughing, a scowl on his face. The god had _read_ him, and knew he needed a laugh. Not that Bokuto had to try to be funny, but the fact that he knew before Oikawa did… The god of wisdom is too observant for his own good.

 

Sitting cross legged on the floor, Bokuto motions for Oikawa to do the same. Oikawa has seen Bokuto’s father have meetings in weird places with those who seek his knowledge, but there is always some semblance of professionalism, with chairs and a table and straight backs.

 

Bokuto is sitting on the floor, slouching, eyes half lidded as he smiles up at Oikawa. It’s a stark difference, and somehow, Oikawa feels he can breathe better.

 

“So,” Bokuto starts, eyes gleaming. “You come with a problem. That you want me to solve! Or at least, give you a vague solution. Am I right?”

 

“Just because I say you’re right doesn’t mean your ego should be stroked so much,” Oikawa says, even as Bokuto fistpumps the air. “You’re the soon-to-be god of wisdom, you should always be right.”

 

“Doesn’t mean I always am though,” Bokuto grins, and tilts his face against his palm, leaning on his knee. “What’s your problem today?”

 

Oikawa thinks. What’s his problem? The fact that he can’t understand humans? The fact that humans are so intrigued by pain? The fact that he can’t get that boy out of his head?

 

“You look ridiculous,” Oikawa decides. “And that’s my problem.”

 

He can’t say it now. He’s too embarrassed to confess about the real reason he came here. He’ll settle for altering Bokuto’s appearance, before trying again.

 

For now, he’s going to drag Bokuto to redo his whole look. If he’s going to emulate his father, he has to, at the very least, look the part. And Bokuto’s father, honestly, is pretty handsome. Right now, Bokuto just looks like a lost white chicken whose feathers exploded over it.

 

He starts by forcibly removing all the the paper stuck to his hair and winces in time to Bokuto’s yells as strands of hair come away. Oikawa will never understand why he doesn’t use the knowledge he possesses to make better decisions. Who sticks paper to their hair with glue? Worse, Bokuto tried to _hot glue_ it. Even used the hot glue gun and everything.

 

Oikawa washes Bokuto’s hair, gets rid of all the glue (as best as he can, Oikawa may be a god, but he isn’t a miracle worker) and starts re-dying it. Bokuto pouts, crossing his arms and mumbling about how his hair looks cool, with the black and white contrast and Oikawa is going to _ruin it_.

 

“You ruined it first,” Oikawa points out, tugging at a couple of knotted strands, making Bokuto gasp. “I’m trying to fix it. I’m doing you a favour. I’m doing the _world_ a favour. No one needs to suffer seeing you hot glue paper to your hair.”

 

“My father laughed!” Bokuto argues petulantly. “He said it was accurate.”

 

Oikawa rolls his eyes and tugs harder, for fun. “He’s your father. If he doesn’t tell you it’s nice, he knows you’ll throw a tantrum. Everybody knows you’ll throw a tantrum. And your tantrum will probably result in an earthquake or something. Idiot.”

 

“Like you’re any better,” Bokuto retorts, shaking his hair and getting suds all over Oikawa. Oikawa dumps a handful of soapy water on Bokuto’s face in revenge, eyes glinting. He splutters, jerking out of the seat and huffing at Oikawa.

 

Bokuto strongly resembles a soaked owl, and Oikawa takes a picture for posterity. The one thing the humans did well, was inventing the camera. Bokuto’s embarrassing moments have been captured for all eternity, courtesy of Oikawa, but Bokuto never hides them. He takes them all in stride and shows them off to Kuroo, the two of them falling over themselves as they laugh.

 

“At least my tantrums are usually within reason,” Oikawa points out, dragging Bokuto back to the chair. He’s going to make Bokuto look presentable, even if it takes centuries. Maybe not that long. He isn’t sure the boy will survive for centuries. “And I only have them _rarely_. It’s why I’m far more appealing than you.”

 

“Unless you get close to Ushijima.” Bokuto leans back and winks at Oikawa. Oikawa’s tempted to shave his head bald in retaliation. But Bokuto’s hair is pretty, and Oikawa can’t bring himself to ruin something so aesthetically pleasing. The silver foil in his hair reflects the sun’s rays, making his hair seem to trap gold amidst white strands. Like sunlight falling through starlight. Bokuto _does_ look good with white hair.

 

“Let’s not talk about Ushiwaka.”

 

“ _Let’s_.” Bokuto has a gleam in his eye. “Why are you so antagonistic towards him? Has he done anything to you? Bemirsched your honor, maybe?”

 

Oikawa snorts. “As if I’d let him get close to me with a ten foot pole.”

 

“But seriously, the guy doesn’t seem to be the kind to earn your undying rage. What is it about him that makes you so angry?” Bokuto furrows his brows. “It’s kinda unnerving, not knowing. I feel this intense need to know.”

 

“The worst part is that I know you aren’t kidding about the ‘need to know’,” Oikawa sighs. “Being the god of wisdom is such a pain, isn’t it? You’re supposed to be the god of wisdom, but somewhere along the way, humans have classified knowledge under wisdom, and now you’re expected to know everything in the world as well.”

 

“Don’t change the subject. Ushijima. Go.”

 

Oikawa looks solemnly at Bokuto. Bokuto has a (soaking wet) cloth around his shoulders, his clothes are drenched with soapy water, his hair isn’t gelled up and falls around his face with silver foil covering some parts. He looks like an idiot.

 

“Can I trust you with this?” Oikawa asks, eyes serious. Bokuto looks back, just as serious, and nods. Oikawa swallows, and says-

 

“He tore apart the first tree I grew.”

 

Bokuto almost chokes on his saliva. It’s a close thing, but Oikawa doesn’t have to perform the Heimlich Maneuver, which is lucky. Bokuto has been known to collapse from choking on saliva or air before. His eyes are wide, blown with shock and- is that horror? Is that horror Oikawa sees? Might be.

 

“He _tore apart your first tree?!_ You don’t even let me _touch_ your trees! Or a flower!” Bokuto shouts. Oikawa doesn’t know what he expected, for Bokuto to focus on the fact that Ushijima touched his tree, and not the fact that Ushijima _tore his tree apart_.

 

“It’s something called leftover trauma. And I know, even though I’m loathe to admit it, that Ushijima is way more responsible than you. If he tore apart my tree, what will you do? If you throw a tantrum in the middle of my orchard, you can very well ruin my whole garden.” Oikawa huffs and turns away. What was he thinking, telling Bokuto this secret?

 

It’s a little surprising, when a wet cloth falls on top of his shoulders. “Hey man,” Bokuto says, talking to Oikawa’s back. “I know how much your first tree means to you. It’s like my first book of knowledge, yeah? My first dictionary that I made. I can’t imagine what it would feel like if someone ripped it apart before my eyes. I put in so much effort and someone just destroyed it like it was made of nothing. I understand why you hate Ushijima now, honestly, but don’t you think that maybe… he didn’t mean it?”

 

Oikawa laughs, just a tad bitter. “If he didn’t mean it, that’s fine. But he didn’t apologise, at all. And that’s what makes me so mad. I’m the god of growth, of agriculture, I live to _grow_ things, and it’s very easy to make mistakes. I know that accidents can happen. But he didn’t apologise, and that’s what makes me so, so furious.”

 

Bokuto nods, and silence falls between them. There isn’t really anything to say. Oikawa feels like he’s just bared his entire soul to Bokuto.

 

“So,” Bokuto coughs, red-faced. “I think these silver foil should’ve been out of my hair quite a while ago.”

 

Oikawa stares at him for a while, feeling _pain_ at his embarrassing attempt to change the subject. He flings the wet towel at Bokuto, tutting as he checks on Bokuto’s hair. Bokuto groans, complains about how Oikawa is the worst friend ever, and everything’s back to normal. The awkwardness has diffused.

 

The air feels lighter, easier.

 

-+-

 

It’s only when Oikawa is back in the tree, eyes trained on the boy struggling to climb up the rope, the setting sun casting shadows on the ground and crafting a halo of gold light around the boy’s head, that he realises he forgot to ask Bokuto to solve his problem.

 

Is it a problem? Is his intense curiosity and interest with this boy a problem?

 

Oikawa flushes and presses further back into the tree. _No_ , he thinks faintly, face tomato red as he looks at the boy. _This isn’t a problem_.

 

-+-

 

Somewhere on Earth, a drought plagues a village, and the cries of dried up plants and slowly dying trees are what calls him away from watching the boy. Oikawa goes on a journey, lets his powers run rampant amongst trees and watch as they heal. He will have to drop by and check on the new water god, see if he’s up to the task of finally, _finally_ , ensuring that all the plants on Earth have the amount of rain they need. The previous water god was lazy, inexplicably lazy, and Oikawa has never felt the urge to rip someone’s hair off so keenly.

 

Maybe this new water god is just as bad, and refuses to make his rounds to water the earth, leaving it all up to his subordinates to scurry around the mass of land and desperately throw droplets over wherever needs it most.

 

He returns soon enough, and he doesn’t realise how much time has passed. Oikawa has never been particularly interested in the affairs of humans - there was never a need, never a desire to source for entertainment, not when he knew Kuroo and Bokuto and all the shenanigans they found themselves caught up in. Oikawa is still a child, even with his two hundred years of existence; his friends, Kuroo and Bokuto, aren’t that far away. They’re ancient in human terms, but as gods, they’re children, and they can run around dressing up like their parents while doing stupid things that they will be excused for- will always be excused for, because they’re children.

 

Because Oikawa is still a child, because he is still young and immature, he doesn’t realise that time passes particularly quickly for humans. He forgets. Usually, he isn’t this forgetful; Oikawa works with Sugawara rather closely, and with the (apprenticing) God of Time at his side, he can monitor the growth of his plants all the better. Oikawa knows how fast time can be, or how slow. He _knows_.

 

It still comes as a shock, when the boy, the young boy whom Oikawa clearly remembered was seven or eight when he last saw him, has become a lanky kid of ten, maybe eleven. Not yet a teenager, and puberty has yet to hit him, but he’s grown up, grown taller, baby fat lost and the beginnings of muscle settling in.

 

Oikawa has missed two years of his life, going around the world and saving trees (that makes him sound like some really hardcore tree lover; not to say he _isn’t_ , but, well, he isn’t the type to go around hugging trees for no reason, unlike some humans he’s seen), and he’s missed two years of the boy’s life.

 

He’s lamenting over the fact that he’s missed watching the boy grow up and conquer the rope tied to the tree, when it hits Oikawa like a bolt of lightning. He’s not supposed to be this attached, he’s not supposed to want to watch this boy grow up and grow taller and grow more _handsome_ , he’s not supposed to feel his heart beat double time whenever he sees the boy throw his head back and laugh, and _oh shit_ the boy isn’t supposed to be able to make eye contact with him either.

 

To clarify, the boy isn’t supposed to _see him_. Oikawa freezes, but surreptitiously checks the foliage draped around him. Yes, the leaves and short vines should be enough to cover him up. Oikawa isn’t _that_ bad at hiding. He’s hid perfectly well from Bokuto for a decade, in one of their legendary Hide-and-Seek matches. Then again, Bokuto’s eyesight isn’t all there. He can be the sharpest marksman when he wants to be, but if he doesn’t focus, he can’t even see the number of fingers Oikawa holds up from one arm’s length away.

 

The boy steps closer, peering up at the tree Oikawa is hiding in. They’re in the forest, quite a way past the end of the boy’s backyard, and this really doesn’t bode well for Oikawa. Despite common belief, Oikawa, despite being a god, cannot actually turn invisible. He does, however, possess wings, but they aren’t the wings humans coo over, the fluffy white ones made of feathers. No, Oikawa’s wings are made of something shimmery, something unidentifiable but resembles silk and gossamer; they remind him of butterfly wings. Oikawa’s vaguely afraid that if he tries to fly away, the boy will catch one end of his wing and _rip_.

 

Oikawa’s wing will grow back if it actually rips, but the pain will linger, the trauma will linger even longer, and it’s worrying.

 

He holds his breath, and his heart feels like it might thump out of his chest and traumatise the boy for however long his short life may be.

 

“Is someone there?” The boy asks, hands gripping the tree bark, ready to climb up and possibly toss Oikawa out of the tree. “If you can hear me, can you say something?”

 

Oikawa doesn’t respond. He does, however, silently beg the tree he’s on to quickly grow a bit more leaves to cover him up and make the bark smoother than usual to make it harder for the boy to climb up.

 

The boy furrows his brows and climbs, fingers clutching at tree branches and legs clinging to the bark as he pulls himself up. The tree is old, just a little bit older than Oikawa, but as time passes slowly on Earth, the tree has _lived_ longer than Oikawa has. The tree is old, the tree is ancient, and the tree is _senile_ , Oikawa thinks angrily as the bark twists such that the boy has better footholds and areas for him to grip as he climbs up.

 

The tree is a meddling old fool and a _menace_ , Oikawa decides, and presses himself further against the tree bark, sending up a quick plea to the Daichi to keep it shady enough to avoid being seen by the boy. If Kuroo is nice, he’ll make the sun shine brighter than neon lights millimeters away from one’s face, and Oikawa can hide in the shadows. The heat will also probably turn the boy off.

 

He hears Daichi’s laugh in his ear and Oikawa despairs. Daichi is definitely _not going to help him_. Probably because Kuroo cajoles him to the point where Daichi gives in and decides that making Oikawa suffer is funny.

 

The boy climbs up onto a different branch, slightly lower than the one Oikawa is perched in, and settles down. His back is straight, shoulders thrown back as he leans out of the tree and peers down; he looks around with furrowed brows and makes a ‘tch’ sound.

 

“I know you’re here.” The boy frowns petulantly. “Don’t just sit in a tree and watch me. You’ve been here since I was eight, haven’t you?”

 

Oikawa chokes. The boy - obliviously - continues.

 

“You’re kind of a creep,” he says thoughtfully. “Watching an eight year boy when he’s in the forest. Not that it’s much better now, with me as ten years old. I’m stronger though, and I _know_ you’re there. How old are yo-”

 

“That’s rude!” Oikawa explodes, throwing himself on the boy’s branch and fuming at him. It takes his brain three seconds to realise what he’s done, and Oikawa’s face bursts into flames, rushing and pushing back to climb back to his branch. Height, he needs height, he needs _some form of superiority_ against this boy who has consumed his mind-

 

The boy has climbed up, one foot on the lower branch, other foot against the bark, one hand gripping a higher branch as he stands and looks at Oikawa. Oikawa has lost the element of height. The boy is taller than him, just a bit, and Oikawa shrieks out something unintelligible.

 

“You’re surprisingly young.” The boy says it like it’s a surprise, and Oikawa bristles. He doesn’t like being told he’s young -- young means incapable, young means weak, young means they think Oikawa isn’t ready to take the role of the God of Agriculture even though there’s no one left and he’s been preparing for it all his life.

 

“I’m not young, you are,” Oikawa bites out, arms crossed over his chest. The boy scrunches his nose and Oikawa gives him a satisfied smirk.

 

“You look ten.” The boy settles down next to Oikawa, head tilted in childish curiosity. Oikawa wants to touch the boy, see if his skin is as heated as it looks, see if it holds the temperature of the hot earth. But then the words register in his mind, and he narrows his eyes at the boy.

 

“I am _not_ ten!”

 

“If you’re not ten,” the boy counters, “then you must be nine.”

 

Oikawa is going to make this boy _cry_. Forget what he said about finding this boy interesting and intriguing and how he can’t get this boy out of his head, how he can’t forget this boy’s chocolate skin and beautiful eyes and bruises all over his tiny body--

 

Oikawa is going to make him see how much better, how much _stronger_ Oikawa is, and how Oikawa is not, all of ten years old.

 

He’s two hundred, for crying out loud.

 

-+-

 

He’s about to shout a war cry and tackle the boy, about to push them off the tree and start the long, long fall back down to the ground, before he realises something important.

 

Time passes a lot faster where Oikawa lives, with all the other gods. Over there, where time is sped up, two hundred years… may just be ten years spent on Earth.

 

He stops, blinks, hands still outstretched as he prepares to wrap them around the boy’s waist, and tilts his head.

 

“I’m ten,” he says, trying it out, tasting the words on his tongue. He hasn’t said those words since forever, and the only faint memory he has is his father telling him, “Oikawa, you’re ten now! You’re old!” That was a hundred and ninety years ago.

 

The boy raises an eyebrow at him. “Well duh,” he says. “You _look_ ten.”

 

-+-

 

The boy’s name is Iwaizumi Hajime - the burst of a start button, the flash of a bang, and Oikawa’s throat freezes when he tries to pronounce the word ‘Hajime’. It’s too familiar, too close, too _awkward_ right now, when Oikawa’s falling over himself trying to make Iwaizumi aware of how much better he is, and Oikawa settles for ‘Iwa-chan.’

 

Iwaizumi blinks at him, and scowls. “That makes me sound like a kid.”

 

“Iwa-chan,” Oikawa wheedles, inching closer to him on the tree. “Iwa-chan, isn’t that a good name? It’s short and sweet, just like you!”

 

“I’m taller than you.” Iwaizumi pushes him, hard, and Oikawa’s arms spin around like wheels as he loses his balance and falls backwards off the branch.

 

He’s not afraid of falling, not when it’s all grass below and grass _loves_ him, grass absolutely worships the ground Oikawa walks on and can be as soft as Daichi’s clouds when Oikawa falls back on them. If Oikawa is mad at Kuroo, it’ll feel like he’s walking on needles when Kuroo tries walking on grass.

 

And well, if the fall was actually long enough to _hurt_ him, Oikawa would spread his wings and fly away, regardless of what Iwaizumi thinks. If the fall was that long, Oikawa would have the space to spread his wings away from the grips of Iwaizumi.

 

Iwaizumi shouts, startled and reaches out, gripping Oikawa as he falls and turns, thumping against the grass below with a breath harshly pushed out of his lungs. It’s loud, it sounds painful, it sounds like it aches and Oikawa pinches a piece of grass in punishment as he blinks at Iwaizumi.

 

 _Bad grass_ , he thinks, upset that Iwaizumi has been injured. The grass curls arounds his finger and around Iwaizumi, flowers blooming in a tiny circle around his body.

 

Oikawa swallows tightly when he realises he’s perched on top of Iwaizumi, hands pressed to the grass on each side of Iwaizumi’s face and Iwaizumi is breathing hard, eyes brighter than Kuroo can ever go, even if it’s supernova. Oikawa will swear to this, he’ll even make Bokuto write it down in his dictionary to make it knowledge.

 

“Sorry,” Iwaizumi says quickly, lips curling up in a smile. “Didn’t mean to push you too hard. Are you injured?”

 

Oikawa looks at him long and hard, thinks about how it was blatantly obvious that Iwaizumi took 100% of Oikawa’s fall, and shakes his head. “Are you okay?”

 

Iwaizumi grins, flashes his teeth and Oikawa’s fingers close into fists. The grass whines a bit in his hands, and Oikawa immediately relaxes, the tension dripping out of his body as he pats the grass.

 

“I fall a lot,” Iwaizumi replies.

 

Oikawa feels like his heart is tripping in his chest and he laughs, rolling off Iwaizumi’s body and falling back against the grass next to him. The grass feels like his bed, softer than down feathers, softer than Daichi’s clouds - though Daichi will forever deny that - and Oikawa stretches like a cat.

 

There’s a brief silence in the hush of the woods, trees all around them and nature is in it’s prime, flourishing and living and _growing_ and Oikawa feels at ease. This is his territory.

 

It doesn’t strike him as worrying that he includes Iwaizumi in his territory, but Oikawa grips Iwaizumi’s hand and laughs, feeling the heat of the sun against his skin. Stupid Kuroo, increasing the heat at this time, when they’re on the ground and supposedly in the shade of the trees.

 

“Wanna play something?” Iwaizumi asks, looking over at Oikawa. “I’ve got a few games at home. You can actually do something other than stalk me in a tree, you stalker.”

 

“Iwa-chan, you _suck_ ,” Oikawa says, hitting Iwaizumi with his free hand. But he lets Iwaizumi pull him up and drag him to the house just beyond the edge of the woods, and when he looks up at the sky, Oikawa spies a cloud in the shape of a heart conveniently floating through the sky.

 

He sticks out his tongue at the sky behind Iwaizumi’s back, and the heart cloud separates into millions of tiny heart clouds.

 

Oikawa laughs again, high and bright and the trees sway to the sound, leaning towards him as their barks creak and bend.

 

Iwaizumi looks back at him, slightly confused, but smiles anyway.

 

-+-

 

Once, Sugawara tries explaining time to Oikawa. To all their friends, actually, but only Daichi vaguely gets it, what with the immense amount of time he spends with Sugawara.

 

“We age differently,” Sugawara says, rubbing the back of his head. “I mean, we all age the same, because we’re all gods, but we age differently from humans.”

 

“Teacher, why?” Bokuto asks, his hand shooting up in the sky. He’s covered in black, a face mask pulled up to cover the bottom half of his face and his question is muffled by the fabric, but he’s loud to the point that everyone hears him anyways. “Why do we age differently?”

 

“Because time,” Sugawara replies firmly, even as he winces right after, fully aware that it’s not a real reply. “Um, we’re given a longer time to be children to enjoy ourselves and choose our field and start apprenticing. After that, we age like humans to further appreciate our powers and abilities and the fact that time is actually slower for us, _majority of the time_. And then, when we’re mature and gods of our own field, time slows again because now we have to train the new apprentice children!”

 

Kuroo starts applauding and cheering, and Bokuto joins in, whistling. “Good job, teacher!”

 

“Bokuto! Kuroo!” Daichi frowns at them, pushing them. “Stop it, or I’ll throw you through hail.”

 

“Such threats!” Kuroo gasps dramatically, blinking away crocodile tears. “Even though they won’t hurt! Much!”

 

“No one appreciates us!” Bokuto cries out, gripping Kuroo. “We, as ninja, need to abscond and never return to this terrorizing family! This abusive family! This family of immortal-ish people!”

 

Oikawa laughs and pulls at Kuroo, relishing the warmth threading through the black headed boy. “The two of you will probably be exceptions to that rule. If they pray really hard to you, Suga, can they stay as kids even longer?”

 

Sugawara frowns, eyebrows furrowing. “Um, maybe? I’m not sure, I think my teacher makes some exceptions, but we usually have to follow this time allocation.”

 

Bokuto falls to his knees, hands clasp together and he prays fervently, though his prayer isn’t anything like the actual prayers humans give and is more of some desperate recital of his to-do list.

 

“I still have so much to do,” he says, one hand to his chest and he flings himself back against the floor. Kuroo joins him, rolling on the ground. “Please, let us be kids forever.”

 

“If you’re kids forever you’ll never get paid,” Oikawa says matter of factly, raising his eyebrow.

 

“No one gets paid here,” Daichi shoots back, lips curling up in a smile. “We just get passable immortality and a good life.”

 

“We should get paid in anything we want,” Oikawa replies, crossing his arms. “What if I do a really good job and I want something as a reward?”

 

“But _who_ will give the reward?” Sugawara asks. Sugawara only asks the important questions, and Oikawa sulks. He didn’t think about that.

 

“We could reward each other if each other does a good job!” Bokuto shouts, sitting up and tackling Oikawa. “What do you want, Mr Plant?”

 

“I want, um, something that I’m not too sure about,” Oikawa replies hesitantly. “I’ll cash it in later.”

 

“How much later?” Bokuto asks, a sly smile on his face. “Time is slowed, after all.”

 

Oikawa shrugs. “Someday. We’ll live for really long, after all. Right?” He looks at Sugawara, and Sugawara nods, a hesitant smile on his face. “Then I’ll have forever to decide what I want. And you all have forever to decide what you want, too.”

 

They shake on it, the five of them, and that’s the end of that conversation.

 

-+-

 

Oikawa notices that he’s growing faster when he sees Iwaizumi again and he has to look downwards to make eye contact with Iwaizumi. The boy frowns, lips pulling down as he slogs a punch into Oikawa’s abdomen when Oikawa teases him about it.

 

Iwaizumi isn’t happy that Oikawa’s hitting what seems to puberty, and he’s quiet when Oikawa comes over. Iwaizumi’s mom is as cheery as ever, and Oikawa waves to her when he passes by. She’s a nice woman with a green thumb that makes Oikawa extremely pleased. Her plants all grow beautifully and her flowers are absolutely gorgeous on the windowsill, placed there to receive ample sunlight.

 

He pats them as he passes by, stroking their leaves and smiling when he tickles their petals. It fills him with joy that plants are flourishing, but he can sense that Iwaizumi is still pouting upstairs - he had been pouting when Oikawa came down to steal a cup of chocolate milk and Oikawa’s very certain he’s still pouting.

 

When Oikawa opens the door, sure enough, Iwaizumi is in his room and frowning at his book.

 

“Iwa-chan,” Oikawa murmurs, settling down and forcing himself against Iwaizumi. Iwaizumi is warm and cuddly on a good day, and on a bad day he’s just warm but he caters to Oikawa anyways, and today’s no different. Oikawa slides down so he can fit in between Iwaizumi’s legs and Iwaizumi balances his chin on top of Oikawa’s head - Oikawa can feel Iwaizumi clench his jaw.

 

Iwaizumi is twelve, about to enter middle school, and Oikawa is maybe twelve, maybe eleven, but he’s growing faster than before. He’s entering his teen years, the years where gods are forced to grow like humans to teach them to treasure time, and Iwaizumi’s probably extremely confused that Oikawa is growing so fast.

 

“Want some milk?” Oikawa offers, lifting his cup. Iwaizumi makes a sound but leans forward anyways, and Oikawa tilts the cup. Iwaizumi swallows, making a face.

 

“Why is it cold?” He says, picking up his book and putting it in front of Oikawa so he can read it better. “I don’t like cold milk.”

 

“Iwa-chan, drinking milk will help you grow tall and strong,” Oikawa says seriously. “All milk is nice.”

 

“Cold milk is weird,” Iwaizumi replies, sticking his tongue out. “I prefer warm milk.”

 

“I know,” Oikawa says, pushing back against Iwaizumi to get more comfortable. “And you put this in the fridge for me, right? You’re so nice, Iwa-chan.”

 

Iwaizumi makes a choking noise, and Oikawa chuckles.

 

The book is a fiction story about gods and their half-god half-human children who are fighting a war and Oikawa snorts when the God of the Sky is an old bearded man. Daichi would cry if he read this. Sugawara doesn’t like long beards, and if this is what humans believe the God of the Sky looks like, Daichi may possibly end up looking like that sooner or later. His teacher doesn’t look like this, though. He’s a strapping young man, a little bit like what Oikawa imagines Daichi would look like if he were human and twenty years old.

 

It’s a plus, for the gods. They always look more youthful.

 

“Are you angry that I’m taller than you, Iwa-chan?” Oikawa asks all of a sudden, and Iwaizumi stills. Oikawa doesn’t tense, but he does hold his breath a bit because he knows for a fact that some people hold grudges forever, people like him. If Iwaizumi is anything like him, Oikawa may be looking at ten years of no interaction between the two of them over a tiny little thing like height difference.

 

He desperately hopes that this beautiful, endlessly interesting boy doesn’t stop being his friend because of a small dispute. Iwaizumi is Oikawa’s Icarus; he is Oikawa’s axis, since Oikawa is young and full of folly and there’s no one else left for him - other than his god friends, but he’s the odd one out of the five of them - and Oikawa worries.

 

“I’m jealous,” Iwaizumi replies finally, and everything doesn’t quite sink out of Oikawa like a deflating balloon, but he does relax a bit. Iwaizumi feels the way Oikawa’s shoulders are tense and he pushes at them, kneads them until they loosen up.

 

“I’m jealous but it’s okay,” Iwaizumi says petulantly. “I hope I’m taller than you when we finish growing. You just grew a lot. I wish I grew that much.”

 

“Eat your vegetables and drink lots of milk,” Oikawa advises, and lifts the cup up again. “More?”

 

Iwaizumi sighs, shuddering a bit around Oikawa’s body and leans forward, drinking more sips of the cold chocolate milk.

 

“This is way too cold,” he says, lips curling down. “I’m upset.”

 

“I know you are,” Oikawa says, smiling. “Drink more.”

 

Iwaizumi can drink lots of milk and grow taller, and he won’t be jealous of Oikawa anymore. He’ll be distractingly happy again and Oikawa can get lost in those pretty eyes once more.

 

His cheeks feel hot, and he presses the side of the cup against his cheek, hoping the coolness will temper the heat.

 

-+-

 

Oikawa is the first to fall so far, become so entrenched in a human’s life, but his relationship progression with Iwaizumi isn’t the fastest. That award goes to Bokuto, who falls hard and fast - arguably, _too_ hard and fast for the son of a scientist.

 

The son of a scientist is an atheist, in this case, and Akaashi doesn’t believe that Bokuto is a god.

 

 _What is he thinking_ , Oikawa thinks, watching quietly as Bokuto tries to confess to Akaashi that he’s a god. There’s no hard and fast rule about sharing the secret, but Oikawa isn’t about to entrust it to anyone. Maybe Iwaizumi, when they’re fifteen or something. Bokuto, on the other hand, is thirteen and crazy and he swears on his first dictionary that he is in love.

 

Bokuto dropped the L-Bomb in front of Oikawa, Kuroo, Daichi and Sugawara, and for some surprising reason, they’re not that shocked. Oikawa objectively knows he should be terribly shocked and try to warn Bokuto to not get his heart broken because Akaashi doesn’t believe in gods and he’s a human, a fragile human that could die from falling off a tree. However, being Bokuto’s friend for around two hundred and twenty years, he’s fully aware that when Bokuto has his mind set on something, there’s no way around it.

 

Akaashi doesn’t really seem to believe in gods, but he does, thankfully, seem to be vaguely interested in Bokuto, and he’s willing to spend a tiring amount of time with Bokuto. Bokuto is a ball of energy and Akaashi seems to be a calm ocean, or a quiet wind, quickly and silently taming the easily riled up ball of energy.

 

“Bokuto-san,” Akaashi says, smiling apologetically. “I’m sorry, but I really can’t picture that you’re a god. Do you have proof?”

 

Bokuto scowls, hunching in on himself. “I don’t know how to prove it properly!” He whines, brows furrowing. “All the stuff I know can be passed off as me knowing lots of random facts and having really high IQ, or something. I can’t objectively _prove_ it.”

 

There’s also no hard and fast rule that disallows them from bringing humans to their home, but Oikawa can appreciate that Bokuto is exercising _some_ form of self-censorship, just in case. Better to not let the disbeliever learn where they live before he and Bokuto get into a _real_ relationship. A ‘lovey-dovey’ relationship, according to Bokuto, the God of Wisdom.

 

Oikawa squints from his place in the foliage, and Kuroo is hitting him in his side, whispering frantically that _Bokuto looks like he’s about to cry, we’ve got to help him!_

 

“Fine!” Oikawa says, standing up in a huff and stomping over to the pair. They’re in the small spread of trees near Akaashi’s house, and the vines draped around the bush trail in the air behind Oikawa as he stalks over. The grass around his shoots up to his waist and flowers bloom in the space of two seconds as he walks with Purpose. Kuroo scrambles behind him, hands outstretched and balls of sunlight - bright, blinding sunlight that has _already_ been toned down - bouncing in them. They’re hot, incredibly hot and Oikawa can feel their heat from the distance of two meters.

 

“Tone it down a bit,” he advises Kuroo, and Kuroo grins back.

 

“ _You_ tone it down a bit,” Kuroo says, and Oikawa looks around to see that the vines have curled around his forearms and there’s a long path of grass that’s up to his waist even though the rest of the grass in the forest is barely knee-level.

 

“Guys!” Bokuto says, wrapping them in big hugs and gripping them like his life depends on them. Which it probably does. If Oikawa and Kuroo, whose powers are a little more obvious, aren’t able to convince Akaashi, Bokuto will probably cry until he fades.

 

Akaashi stares at them with open eyes, a twitching jaw, and his fingers are clenching around nothing.

 

Oikawa looks at him defiantly, waiting to see what the son of a scientist will say - he’s never actually met a scientist, but Sugawara’s teacher once met a scientist and the scientist told Sugawara’s teacher to stop with those ‘cheap sleight of hand magic tricks that belong in the alleyways’, even though Sugawara’s teacher was manipulating _time_ and had been caught (on accident), and Oikawa had felt a surge of anger on behalf of his friend’s teacher.

 

If Akaashi is going to be the same, he’s-

 

“Do you have plant cells instead of animal cells?” Akaashi asks, eyes wide, and there’s a startled silence.

 

He backtracks immediately, a small smile on his face, and he turns to Bokuto. “I’m not sorry for not believing you,” Akaashi says, and Bokuto’s grip tightens on Oikawa’s arm but-

 

“I do kind of believe you now,” Akaashi says, and his smile is bigger now, and he looks _really_ pretty, almost enough to rival Iwaizumi but Bokuto looks really in love right now and okay, Oikawa can kind of understand that emotion. That helplessness and inability to look away because the object of their affection is right _there_ and so incredibly good looking.

 

Bokuto’s lips break into a large smile, and he rushes over to envelop Akaashi in a hug. Kuroo beams, glad that his best friend to end all best friends has found someone. They look like they’re glinting in the sunlight, with his shock white hair contrasting to Akaashi’s ink black hair and Bokuto’s immense grin directed at Akaashi’s quiet smile makes Oikawa’s heart ache.

 

Kuroo snickers and nudges Oikawa to look at the sky, and Oikawa bursts into laughter.

 

Written in the clouds are the words “GET SOME”, and a floating heart cloud trailing after the words. The pair of lovebirds look up and Akaashi blinks in shock and amusement, while Bokuto loses it.

 

Maybe Iwaizumi will take it this well, Oikawa thinks optimistically, smiling to himself. Maybe his brilliant friend will see who Oikawa is and appreciate him, and _love_ him for who he is.

 

Not many people love the God of Agriculture, because they forget him.

**Author's Note:**

> Please leave a review with your thoughts or drop by my [twitter](https://twitter.com/zxrysky) and [tumblr](http://zxrysky.tumblr.com/) .


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